Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

The Contents of the Urn IV

     But at that mid-January, there came a night when she took a visit while her little brother was off the grid. She asked me, "Where is he?" of which I got no answer to tell her back then. Even I myself did not know. At that time, no, I had been stressed at work that I seemed to find little time in knowing every corner of this house. Kind of disregard. Overlooked.

     So we waited.

     Maya and I waited 'till twelve; only in that moment we heard the door opened. It was him, her little brother. His eyes were deep reddened; his face a mess, with one big black eye on the right, and another smaller one on the left. Wounded. He was wounded. A little splashed of blood could also be seen on his face, until now I recall. As if he just got out of one of the most dangerous prisons in the whole world; one located here in the Philippines.

     Maya asked him, "Hey, what happened to you?"

     "I got into a fight," he replied. By then he went straight upstairs along with his bag— a big piece of luggage, by its vile and green around the gills appearance, looking like it had been cut almost into half by a certain type of knife or dagger.

     Maya and I had exchanged long glances. Aunt to niece; niece to aunt.

     "What's going on?" she asked.

     And I said, "I don't know..."

     And so, in order for us to know more, we went upstairs and asked her brother once again. Upstairs, about the doorway to his room, we both stood stall. I asked him first, Maya asked the second. And yet, we both did not get a response.

     He was lying on his futon bed with his eyes closed shut, arms and feet opened wide, although we knew he wasn't asleep; still we couldn't get any answer to the question 'What happened?' He had his mouth full-zipped. But behind his eyelids, we knew his eyes were gorged-moving; he was conscious.

     "You have to at least tell us what happened," his sister demanded. She sounded different than she was down on the first floor, right here where we were found. The tonality in all her words could pierce metal shields; I still remember it, as if her words had been sharpened into harpoons.

     "Didn't I tell already?" He said, "That's it. I got into a fight."

     "Were you alone?"

     "I was," he answered, "but I took them all alone, I'm okay. I'm by myself. I'm strong. There's nothing to worry about. I can take them all, yes. I made sure they'll leave me alone."

     "Look... we can't let you do this to yourself..."

     I agreed. "Your sister's right. You need to listen."

     "For Christ's sake, please avoid petty fights," Maya said; uncontrolled now. "Still acting like a kid? Really? Why? You're in high school! At least you act accordingly... I'm sorry, we can't tolerate that behavior. No one tolerates it. You have to listen to us, please."

     "I'm sorry, okay?" Her little brother decided to sit. He couldn't contain his subtle quietness no more. He faced us; remaining, he had these red eyes seemingly bloodshot. Like real blood. Like a tint of scarlet ink had been spilled directly to his eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise."

     "Don't make me laugh now," said Maya.

     "What?"

     "You never deemed your promises. Don't bullshit me."

     "Excuse me?"

     "You always break them, you," she continued, "you're still a boy, not a man of your words."